A Study in Ties
by CalmBeforeAStorm
Summary: John comes home one day to find Sherlock organising his ties...and is confused.


**A Study in Ties**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock does not belong to me.**

**A/N: Based on the fact that *spoiler alert*, according to the Sherlock casebook, Sherlock actually does sort out John's ties by dominant colour. Cute.**

'...Sherlock, what are you doing in my room?'

Sherlock glanced up irritably from his perch on the end of John's bed, long legs folded up beneath him. Laid out in front of him in neat bundles was what appeared to be John's entire collection of ties.

John half-feared that this was some sort of crazy experiment which (experience had shown) would most likely end up with John hurrying out to Marks & Spencer the next morning to buy twenty-something new ties to replace the ones that had been set on fire, dissolved in acid, whatever it was Sherlock planned to do with them.

Thus, he was greatly relieved, and more than a small bit amused when Sherlock muttered 'I'm organizing your ties, what does it look like I'm doing?'

John paused for a minute to take that in.

'You're...organizing my ties?'

Sherlock nodded, not even looking up as he carefully picked up a green tie and placed it neatly on a pile on his right.

Creeping a little closer, John allowed himself to smile a little as he confirmed that Sherlock was, indeed, doing what he claimed to be doing. None of his ties were smoking, none were ripped up, and none had acid burns through them.

In fact, now that John was close enough to see the state in which he himself had left them in his tie drawer (which was balanced carefully on the duvet beside his flat mate), he had to admit that Sherlock was actually doing a good job of making some sense of order with them.

'What way are you...'

John stopped when he answered his own question, noticing the obvious way the ties were organized. There was the green pile, a red pile, a blue pile, a gold pile, a black pile, even, he was surprised to see, a pink pile. He hadn't even known he had pink ties.

'Colours. Obvious' Sherlock murmured distractedly. He picked up a blue and black striped tie - John's favourite.

'What are you going to do with that one?' John asked, curious.

Not surprisingly, Sherlock knew what he was doing.

'Dominant colours, John. This tie has blue stripes about an inch thick, while the black stripes are about three-quarters of an inch. Also, the back of the tie is a navy colour- not that you'd ever see that, but it still counts. So,' he handed the tie to John, who took it from him slowly, 'that one goes in the blue pile'

Sherlock sighed after a few seconds of John's confused stare. He pointed.

'The blue pile, John? Surely you were taught your colours at school!'

He turned back once he made sure that John put the tie safely with its fellows.

They carried on in silence for a while, Sherlock sorting through the drawer, announcing the dominant colour of each tie and handing it over to John, who placed it carefully on the correct pile. He had learned this lesson the hard way - a few minutes ago, after half a dozen ties had accumulated in his hands before he could blink, he had haphazardly thrown a red tie in the red pile's general direction. Seeing this, Sherlock had stopped, staring pointedly at the tie where it lay crumpled on the duvet. John eventually caught on and picked it up, straightened it and put it neatly where it should have been.

He hadn't done that again, taking the time to make sure that each tie was laid exactly on top of the last one in the pile. But then again, Sherlock had also slowed down a bit to for him as well.

'Sherlock...'

Sherlock handed him a lilac tie. 'Hmmm? Start a purple pile, John'

'If you don't mind me asking, why are you doing this?'

His flat mate glanced momentarily up at him from under his unruly mop of inky hair. He quickly glanced down again as soon as he caught John's gaze, as if too shy to make eye contact.

'Well, I...I came in here earlier on to see if you had any spare sheets I could use in my experiment,' he hurried quickly on before John could protest, 'and I was looking in your drawers and came across these'

John thought that perhaps he should have been outraged to discover that his flat mate had been snooping through his things, but he really wasn't. He nodded to indicate for Sherlock to go on.

'And...?'

'And, well...they just...they were all over the place, John. How could you have left them like that? How were you supposed to have everything organized if they were all thrown in together? So, I spent a little time deciding what system I would use to organize them for you, and I eventually chose to group them by dominant colour. And...that's what I've been doing since, although I must say that it's taking me a lot longer than I had expected. You really do have an almost distasteful amount of ties, John. I'm close to losing respect for you'

Sherlock beamed at John for a split second, the playful, close-lipped smile that John had become so familiar with over the last few months at 221B.

John found himself grinning back easily, a rush of affection for his (probably) crazy flat mate and best friend suddenly filling him. This, sorting John's ties out, was, although unusual and more than a bit odd, actually sort of sweet, in its own way. It was a very Sherlockian thing to do.

John had suspected for some time that Sherlock was autistic, most likely Asperger's Syndrome. Making an index for his socks, organizing John's ties by dominant colour, it all was so typical of someone on the spectrum that John felt no need to ask for further confirmation, even though he probably never would have brought it up with Sherlock anyway.

He thought back to the way Sherlock had met his eyes for that split second before averting them again. Surely he didn't think John would be annoyed with him for this, would he?

Then he remembered that first night, in the taxi.

_'That was amazing'_

_'...You think so?'_

Sherlock was so uncertain, so used to people scolding him for doing nothing else than just being himself. John felt a brief flash of anger for anyone, _anyone _who had ever so much as teased Sherlock in the years before he had met him.

'Well, thanks Sherlock. It is a lot better this way, I have to admit. I'll try to keep them this way from now on'

Sherlock's smile widened and he turned back around to the tie drawer.

John stood up, stretching a bit, and winced. How Sherlock managed to sit hunched over, Indian-style like that for so long was beyond him, especially since Sherlock was at least six feet tall and had long, gangly legs which seemed to go on forever.

'Do you do yoga or something?'

Sherlock huffed out a laugh as John walked over to the door.

'I used to. It's very relaxing. You should try it. I'm a Tai Chi master too, and I did ballet for a while'

'What? Ballet?! Why?' John was the one who laughed this time.

Sherlock sniffed, mock-offended.

'Well, it was for a very simple reason, actually. In the months just before my thirteenth birthday I went from five foot four to five foot eleven, then to six foot one. As you can imagine, I was about as coordinated as a newborn foal, and it was an unending source of teasing and amusement for Mycroft and my classmates. The solution? Ballet'

Sherlock's moth twitched as he saw John begin to dissolve into sniggers. Finally, he had to join in, his deep laugh joining in with John's higher-pitched one.

'I gave it up as soon as I deemed myself half in control of my limbs again, but I managed to reach grade six. Not bad really. And, as I'm sure you'll acknowledge, I now have a fair bit more grace than people of my height usually have. So, the British ballet association gained an extraordinarily talented dancer for a year and I gained self-control. Win-win for everyone'

John wiped the tears from his eyes, shaking his head. It was always a surprise to hear what Sherlock would come out with. It was times like these that John remembered that he barely knew the man. Sometimes it felt like he had known him forever.

'I'm going to order in something. Chinese alright?'

Sherlock nodded absently, once more absorbed in his work. John paused at the door for a second to look at him one last time: perched like a child on the bed, in his pyjamas and dressing gown, with his mop of curls hiding his face and John's ties spread out like a rainbow around him.

John smiled again and continued on to try to find the phone in the biology/chemistry lab they called a kitchen.

**Six months later**

John turned slowly and marched away from the still-shiny black headstone, determined not to turn around for one last look at his friend's grave. Besides, he would inevitably be back again tomorrow.

The wind breezed through the quiet cemetery, catching on the blue and black tie that had been tied carefully to a single flower which lay beneath the golden words _Sherlock Holmes._

**A/N: Whoah. It went angsty there at the end. Wasn't really supposed to.**

**Anyway, reviews? :D**


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